Codename: Lavender Brown
by purplecloak9
Summary: One-Shot. Lavender's penchant for friendship bracelets serves as a catalyst in the relationship between best friends Ron and Hermione.


She allotted her face three seconds to pucker into a grimace at the sight of Lavender Brown stepping into her office, taking off her cloak—these Ministry hallways are _drafty_ in the winter—and hanging it up on the knob at the back of the door. Fortunately, those three seconds coincided with the time Lavender's back was turned, and she had schooled her features by the time her guest had taken a seat on the overstuffed armchair—in a sedate brown, courtesy of Harry—across the desk from Hermione.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, trying to appear busy by shuffling papers around her micromanaged desk.

Lavender batted her eyelashes. "Oh, _Hermy_," Hermione flinched at the nickname. "I wanted to ask you a small favor."

Ever since they left school, Hermione, Ginny, Parvati, and Lavender had been meeting up at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks on Friday nights. Of course, Ginny and Harry became more serious after Harry returned from his vacation abroad, Luna was unavailable due to her love affair with a foreign wizard, and Parvati became enamored with Dean Thomas. Ron refused to accompany her on these evenings because they were apparently too overtly feminine unless Harry was going, so she found herself in an odd sort of friendship with Lavender.

Now, nearly every evening she received a floo call from Lavender at her flat, they went to lunch together nearly every day unless she begged off for work, and there were also bracelets involved, which came in a strange pink color—the really scary thing was that they didn't come off _ever_. Hermione usually put a camouflage spell on it, to hide the neon, blinking words inscribed onto it. Friends forever.

Friends.

Forever.

Best Friends Forever.

So helping vanquish a Dark Lord didn't earn her enough karma points to avoid _this?_ _This _woman who wore _pink_ robes to rival the Weasley twins—_Weasley brother, Fred is gone—_this woman who called her by an idiotic nickname, this woman who had just spit out _his _name surrounded by a lot of other unfamiliar words.

_Could you set me up with Ron? Like, on a date?_

_Date. Ron. _Ron?

"You want me to set you up on a date with Ron," she spluttered, not even trying to mask her absolute panic at the idea. Of course, Lavender was not the most astute person in the world. Her position in the Ministry was a joke to most people—Head of House Elf Uniform Regulation. Hermione actually had commissioned the department herself and thought it was quite valuable, remembering Dobby with his woolen hats and his tea cozy. However, it didn't require a lot of math.

Lavender blinked at Hermione. "Of _course_ I want you to set me up with Ron! He's such a catch!"

He really was.

He wasn't just tall and lanky anymore, he'd filled out a considerable amount. His freckles, which she had always found so endearing, were lighter during the winter months. He worked out with Harry as part of the Auror training program, even though he was still a partner at the joke shop with George. Ron was sweet, funny, good looking, and completely uninterested in Hermione.

She loathed every time he patted her on the shoulder, or introduced her as his best _friend,_ Hermione.

It was absolute torture.

And now her—tongue bite—_best_ buddy wanted to be set up on a date with him.

"Why him?" she asked rather rudely, still unable to hide her disdain for the idea.

"Uh, why _not_ him? I always wondered why you weren't tapping that all those years at school… Wait, were you?" Her big blue eyes were focused on her, looking eerily like Rita Skeeter. It was a tell-me-your-secrets-I-will-definitely-tell-I-promise.

"No, there was no, _tapping_ anytime in any shape or form," she said defensively, cheeks reddening at the thought of their first, and last, kiss. Soft lips, firm hands that were all hers for the briefest of moments. She had held out hope, but it all came to nothing, chalked up to the heat of the moment.

She wished, _yearned_ for tapping.

"In that case, you'll have no problem telling him to meet me at the Indian restaurant in Diagon Alley tomorrow night," Lavender said, smirking.

It was then the thought struck that perhaps Lavender Brown wasn't stupid.

Maybe she was _evil._

She should call Harry, and ask the Auror Department to look into it.

# # #

"Something's bothering you," Ginny said, without looking up from her broomstick. Hermione didn't know what was wrong with it exactly; it looked perfectly clean, and the twigs were mostly straight. But Ginny went over it with a polishing cloth, turning it over and over so that the light coming through the kitchen window of the Burrow hit the shaft.

Quidditch players.

"No, nothing is _bothering_ me. Why would something be bothering me? Do I look _bothered_ to you?"

Ginny leaned back in her chair, a surprised smile spreading across her face. "What's wrong with you? First you come in dressed like you're going on a date with a priest," she said, ignoring Hermione's squawk of protest, "and then you keep huffing and puffing every time my brother walks into the house."

"It's just that every time I look at him," she said in a low voice. "I wonder why I wasn't…enough."

At Ginny's piercing look, she continued. "I don't know if Harry told you—" Ginny snorted. "But during the final battle Ron kissed me. Well, I kissed him. We kissed. And—"

Ginny patted Hermione on the arm. "You've both got your heads up your arses."

"—I mean, we didn't ever talk about it, so I just assumed, well, that—"

"Hermione?"

"—and now on top of _everything_ else, Lavender Brown wants me to tell him to meet her at this restaurant so they can go out, you know, on a _date_. It's a ridiculous idea, don't you think it's ridiculous?"

"Well, I—"

"—It's a ridiculous idea, I know it is. Can you believe she even _asked_ me that?"

"It was rude, but—"

"I mean, it isn't as though I ever made my feelings concerning Ron a _secret, _did I?"

"Of course, you didn't—"

"The _nerve_ of her, really. Did she ever think about him before he was successful and built and handsome?"

"Er—"

"No! She didn't! She's treated him like a leper all these years, and now that he's got a bit of notoriety she thinks she can just swoop in and—"

"Hermione!"

Hermione took a deep breath, finally looking at Ginny, who was rolling her eyes.

"I'm very glad you're able to express your displeasure, but could you do it for real? I mean, go to Ron and tell him how you feel."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I can't."

"And why not?"

She would absolutely _not_ resort to that.

"Because." Hermione could just see Professor McGonagall rolling her eyes. Her thirteen year old self had had better comebacks.

Ginny shook her head. "You've known each other for ten years; don't you think it's time?"

She gulped. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?" Harry had poked his head into the kitchen, rubbing a towel over his head to mop up the sweat from his brow. Behind him, Ron stood, shirtless, in a pair of loose fitting, draw string shorts.

_Merlin._

She knew she really shouldn't objectify men—after all, she spent most of her adult life trying to get men at the Ministry to accept the fact that she was attractive and intelligent at the same time—but _damn _Ron Weasley was a sexy man. He had toned legs, muscular arms, and well-developed pectoral muscles with sparse red hair dusting his chest.

_Mmmm-hmmm_

Both men wiped the sweat from their bodies (thankfully Harry was wearing a white undershirt) and trudged inside.

"Who knows what?" Ron enquired.

"'Mione says Lavender Brown wants into your knickers," Ginny said, smirking at the blush on Hermione's cheeks.

"Well, I think I'm done with this conversation," Harry said amiably. "Have you been working on the Firebolt all this time, Gin?"

Ron was still examining Hermione carefully, while Harry pulled Ginny over his shoulder and ran up the stairs, muttering something about 'broomstick service'. Ginny giggled, grasping one of Harry's buttocks merrily.

"They're disgusting, they are," Ron said, grimacing at the laughter emanating from Ginny's childhood room.

"They're in love," was all she had to say.

"But does it have to be so… obvious?" he asked, cringing at the steady thumping on the ceiling.

Desperate to change the conversation, she said, "How's the shop," at the same time he asked, "What's this about a date with Lavender?"

"Who's got a date with Lavender?" asked Mrs. Weasley, who just came bustling into the kitchen, little Victoire in her arms.

"Er, Lavender wanted to meet Ron at the Indian restaurant tomorrow night. At seven," she said, just to be thorough.

For some strange reason, Ron smirked. "Okay, tell _Lavender_ I'll be happy to meet _her_ there."

# # #

A magical flat was something Hermione appreciated. She had lived with her parents until she was nineteen—unable to afford her own flat until her job at the Ministry paid her a decent amount. Even now, it wasn't exorbitant, but she got along just fine. With her investments she planned to be well off by the time she was thirty.

Living with her Muggle parents was lovely—she adored them. It _had been_ mildly irritating when they treated her like a child, even after she was of age, and she couldn't do simple household spells while under their roof.

After the Memory Charm incident, they were understandably wary of magic.

Hermione found that not only was the freedom of living by herself a good feeling, but that she liked hearing the tinkling of dishes washing themselves while she read on the couch, and the convenience of flicking her wand to change the wireless.

She was _comfortable_ there.

Usually.

Tonight, she was trying to read, but was really only turning the pages of her book listlessly. It was supposed to be an engaging read, at least that's what the _Prophet_ had said about it.

_Bloody liars, what do they know?_

She jumped at the sudden—and extremely loud—crack of Apparition behind her front door. Hermione knew the sound of that particular Apparition. It was someone she knew very well, and someone she had helped practice for the Apparition _exam._

Ron Weasley was outside of her door, when he was supposed to be having sex with Lavender Brown.

_Why?_

He obviously couldn't be bothered by knocking, instead just throwing the door open. It didn't have a _lock_ per se, but the wards were set to admit a certain list of people and now Hermione was thinking she should probably just lock the damn door.

Because Ron Weasley looked damn _mad._

Mad in the crazy sense, not in the angry sense.

Well, he looked angry, furious really, too, but he looked crazy with anger.

"Where _were _you?" he shouted, blue eyes glaring at her, still on the couch, the book now pulled up to her chest like a shield.

She was frozen.

"Well? Where were you?"

"I… I, what are you talking about? I was here," she said, genuinely perplexed.

"Why weren't you at the restaurant!" he exclaimed, pacing the floor beside the stone fireplace. "I get there, I'm waiting for _you_ and then _Lavender_ is there, calling me _Ronnie_ and making us these… bracelet things." He looked down at his wrist in bewilderment.

On his wrist hung a purple bracelet, bearing the words 'best boyfriend.'

"I told you Lavender wanted to go on a date with you," she stated, thinking there may have been a misunderstanding somewhere. She wanted to make sure she hadn't said another name like Luna or Gabrielle.

"I know that!"

"So, the problem is?"

"I thought you were going to be my date!" He seemed to realize what he had said, and he flushed.

"Why would you think that?" she blinked.

He rubbed his head, messing up his carefully styled hair. "You said Lavender, and I thought, I dunno, that it was sort of a…"

"Sort of a what?"

"A codename?" It came out as a question, and he smiled sheepishly at her, though he still looked a little disgruntled.

"You thought Lavender Brown was a codename for what? A haircut appointment?"

He groaned. "No! I thought you said Lavender because, you know, you were too embarrassed to ask me out in front of Ginny and my mum! I thought you were going to meet me in Diagon Alley!"

"That's completely mental!" she shouted, standing up to face him. "How did you even come to that conclusion?"

"It seemed logical at the time," he muttered.

"_Logical!" _she screeched. "That's completely mental! No one in their right mind would make that connection!"

"So I'm mental now? That's rich, coming from you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she yelled, face scrunching in a grimace.

"Exactly what I said! You kiss me three years ago, and then act like nothing happen, and then set me up with some crazy person, who really likes curry and calls me _Ronnie_!"

"Yeah, well, you, you, you…" she suddenly became aware of how close to each other they were standing.

He seemed interested in their proximity as well.

"Ron, do you think I could kiss you?"

He chuckled. "At least you asked this time," he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.

"Shut it, you insufferable git," she said, but it came out weakly. She felt breathless.

Ron Weasley did that a lot.

She liked—_loved_ it. She loved _him._


End file.
